


The Case of the Missing Book Thief

by Nicholas_Lucien



Series: FKFicFest [5]
Category: Forever Knight
Genre: Angst, Books, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Cold Case - Freeform, Gen, Guilt, Police Procedural, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23726305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicholas_Lucien/pseuds/Nicholas_Lucien
Summary: A case from the past comes and cannot be ignored.
Series: FKFicFest [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1086720
Comments: 12
Kudos: 15
Collections: 2020 FKFicFest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is from the prompt: Cold Case
> 
> The title was inspired by Travis McDade's book 'Thieves of Book Row,' which recounts the story of the theft of some rare books from the New York Public Library in 1931 by individuals associated with the area known as Book Row, located on 4th Ave. 
> 
> The story takes place after 'Partners of the Month' and 'Close Call,' and references these episodes along with 'Dark Knight,' 'Spin Doctor,' and '1966.'
> 
> I do not own these characters and is not intended to infringe upon any copyright owners. No profit is being made from this work.

Don curled his fingers around the car keys Nick had just dropped into his hand. “Thanks again.”

With a lopsided grin, Nick shrugged. “It’s okay, Schanke.”

“No,” Don insisted, “this is really-”

“You need this,” Nick interrupted. “You and Myra need this time.” It had only been a few months since Don had left, then returned to her. Some time alone and away from the city was going to be beneficial for them.

Don nodded in agreement while he fiddled with the keys. “I’d use my car, but ….”

“But mine has more trunk space,” Nick finished. He also still felt a little guilty about how he had treated his friend. Nick recalled the many times he had scrambled to search for a safe place and should have been more understanding when Schanke had come to him. Of course, Nick reminded himself, he had been very understanding of the many times Schanke had brought, and dropped, food in his car. “Just promise me you won’t eat in my car.”

“I won’t,” Don pledged. He stopped playing with the keys and slipped them into his pants pocket. “I can still take you home,” he offered.

“I’ll be fine. I have to go see Nat, and she’ll drop me off on her way home.”

Don nodded in understanding while suppressing the observation that Nick’s place was not along the way to Natalie’s home.

“Speaking of which,” Nick said as he put on his coat, “I need to get going.”

“Thanks again, Nick.”

“Don’t worry,” he reiterated with a pat to Schanke’s shoulder. “Just enjoy yourself and try not to get another parking ticket.”

Don winced. “Oh.” He had hoped Nick would never find out about that. “Vera told you?” His partner just smiled, then turned and walked away. Don shook his head in confusion, then sat back down at his desk. Nick might have been able to leave on time, but he still had some hours to make-up before he could go. Yawning, he reached over to his pile of forms and dragged the top one down onto the desk. Leaning over, he began to write on the report.

“Detective Schanke?”

Startled, Don looked in the general direction of the voice. Blinking, he tried to focused on who had called out his name. “Oh, Vera,” he exclaimed, after finally recognizing her. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” With a pencil, he indicated the stack of completed reports, now slightly higher than the uncompleted stack. “Almost done.”

“I can see that,” Vera brightly replied. “Though,” she began, “I thought you would be gone by now. You and Detective Knight have the week off, and your shift is over.”

Don looked around the room, noting the Detectives from dayshift were all there. “Yeah, well, paperwork. Speaking of which, did you tell Nick about that parking ticket?”

“No,” Vera responded. “Why?”

Don shook his head. “Nick found out, somehow.”

“Well, he is a detective. Speaking of which, there is someone here looking for you. I told him I didn’t think you were in, but I would check just in case.”

“Looking for me?”

“Yeah. From the States,” she clipped. “Said it was about that old New York driver’s license you had me do an archive check on. He wants to talk to you about it.”

Don stood up and reached out to give a calming pat to Vera’s arm. “It’s okay,”

Vera nervously hitched her shoulders. “Don’t know why he couldn’t have called. To just show up unannounced….”

“Yeah. Look, why don’t you take him to the conference room-”

“Bailey and Kinney are in there,” Vera interrupted.

“Excuse me.”

Don looked at the older man who had walked up to them. Vera made some quick introductions, then left him with this stranger.

“My apologies for coming by unannounced, but I just arrived in town, and I thought I would stop by here first.”

“Catch us before making an escape?” Don joked.

“Something like that.” He indicated the empty room that joined the interrogation room. “If you don’t mind, I require only a few minutes of your time.”

“Detective Smith-”

“Please, call me Allan,” he interjected, while slowly moving towards the room. Soon the other man began to follow, and they both entered.

Glancing at the empty interrogation room on the other side of the glass, Don switched on the light before closing the door for privacy. Allan had already placed his satchel on the little table and was pulling out a thick pleated file. “What-”

“Detective Schanke, Don,” Allan gently corrected, “recently, you requested an archive search performed on a Nicholas Forrester. Do you recall that?”

Don remembered the name and the driver’s license he got it from. “Yeah-”

“Why, exactly, did you need to perform this search? The request form was very vague about the reason.”

“It was part of an investigation. It’s not like we just run archive searches for fun or personal reasons,” Don grimaced. “You came all this way because we didn’t fill the form out completely?”

“An investigation into what?” Allan eyed Detective Schanke critically, then relaxed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap the question. Jet lag. Please,” Allan began again, “under what circumstances required this archive search?”

Don blinked a few times, concerned about how a misunderstanding on his part had come to this. “I found the driver’s license in the course of another investigation. I was just following up on everything.”

“Dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s, eh?”

“Just being thorough,” Don gruffly replied. “Why?”

“What was the nature of that other investigation, if I might ask?”

“What’s this about?” Don insisted.

Allan let out a slight sigh as he looked around the room. “There is a notation in the file of Nicholas Forrester that if anyone accessed it, I am to be notified.”

“Why you?”

Allan returned his attention to the other man. “I’m a Detective in the 6th Precinct of New York City, and I monitor a few old cold cases. The case of Nicholas Forrester is one such.” He pulled out a copy of a driver’s license and passport and held them out.

Don took the copies and looked at them, just like he did with the copies Vera had given him before. And just like before, he was struck by how much the pictures looked like Nick.

Allan watched Don, confident the Detective was trying to hide something. “If you know anything about this man, I need you to tell me.”

“What is this case about?”

Allan hesitated, then relented. “Mr Forrester went missing in 1964, and foul play was assumed, given the state of his residence and several other crimes associated with this case. With no new information, the investigation ultimately went cold. Do you,” Allan gently probed, “know anything about him?”

“What do you mean ‘the state of his residence’?” Don glanced up quickly at Detective Smith before returning to look at the images that were so much like Nick. “What happened to him?”

“At the time, there was a belief that he had become involved with … organized criminal activity.”

“Like the Mafia,” Don incredulously sputtered.

“Something like that,” Allan confirmed. “There was, and still is, a very lucrative clandestine market for rare books and prints. Thefts can occur from private houses, or from the collections held by various libraries. I’m sure you have heard about the notorious theft of a number of books from the New York Public Library back in the 1930s? Those weren’t the only ones, and many of the stolen books always seemed to find their way to the sellers on Book Row. At the time, Mr Forrester worked for the New York University, which is approximately halfway between his home and Book Row. He worked in the University’s libraries, handling some of their oldest and rarest books. His main duties included archiving, translating, preserving, and the like.”

“He was a librarian?”

“He worked with books,” Allan corrected.

“Well, just working in a library doesn’t automatically mean being involved in book thefts and crime rings.”

“No, but he was known to meet with rare booksellers, and one morning three dumped bodies had been discovered, two were known book thieves and the last was a seller Mr Forrester had been recently in company with. Soon after, the Director of the Libraries at the University reported that both Mr Forrester, and the book he had been working on, were missing.” Allan paused, but the other Detective said nothing. “The Detectives first assigned to the case,” he continued, “went to his residence in Greenwich Village. He was not there, and the residence was in shambles. A considerable amount of blood was also found on the floor, leading the Detectives to conclude that might have been the site of the murders. But with nothing more to go on and Mr Forrester himself missing, possibly being a fourth victim in this homicide spree, the case remained open and unresolved. This is why,” Allan continued as he took back the copies out of Don’s hands, “I simply need to know how a homicide detective in Toronto came across the New York driver’s license of a missing man involved in a case of murder and theft from over thirty years ago. Just dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s.”

“You think this Nick was involved in underground book buying and murder, and you just want to close out a case?” Don shook his head. “No, you think he’s still alive and here,” he keenly concluded, “or you would’ve just called.”

Detective Smith thought for a moment, then reached into the file folder and pulled out some more sheets. “I think,” Allan carefully replied, “that Mr Forrester survived whatever happened in his home. I know there is a considerable illicit book market in Toronto, and both the University of Toronto’s Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library and the Toronto Public Library’s Rare Books and Archives have quite an enviable collection.” He handed the papers to Don. “And I think there are too many links to rare books in this case.”

Frowning, Don took the papers and looked at them, flipping through a few pages of handwritten notes before stopping on the last page. A photocopy of a passport with another picture of a man that looked just like Nick held his attention.

“That is Nicholas Thomas. He was issued a passport around the same time Nicholas Forrester went missing. As you can see from the various notes, Mr Thomas traveled to quite a number of places over a few years, always stating his business was research. Several individuals recall he was interested in libraries and old collections. His movements were noted because he had a habit of meeting with sellers and acquirers who dealt in the black market of books.”

“What?”

“I believe, and looking at the pictures, this is the same person.”

“So have you looked for this Thomas guy?”

“Ah,” Allan said as he collected his papers. “The last record we have of Mr Thomas was in 1966 where he was rumored to be in East Germany, accused of being an American agent. He was associated with the events that occurred at the State Archive number 7, a repository of ancient books.”

“What event?”

“The Archive burned, along with all the documents therein.”

“But if he was looking for books, why burn a library?”

“That is something I would like to know. In any event, that case is also a cold one. Nothing more was discovered in either of these until you requested an archive search, which brought me here. Nicholas would be approximately 72 years old now. Did you come across such a man? Is that how you got the driver’s license?”

“No, no one like that. It was just random how I found the license.”

“Where did you find it?”

“The glove box of an old car,” Don reluctantly answered.

“Were there books involved in this, I assume homicide case, you were investigating?”

“No,” Don replied hastily, “nothing like that. Just an item found.” He didn’t think Detective Smith quite believed him. Don looked around nervously and glanced at his watch. “Oh, it’s really past my shift, I have to get going. If there’s nothing else you need?”

Allan narrowed his eyes. “No, nothing at the moment. I’ll make a note of this for the case file. Thank you for your time.”

“Sure,” Don quickly sputtered, turning to the door and grasping the doorknob.

“You wouldn’t happen to still have the driver’s license?” Allan inquired as Detective Schanke exited the room.

“No, not part of an investigation so it wasn’t saved in evidence.”

“I understand,” Allan replied, though the other Detective had already left the room. He meticulously slid the papers back into the thick folder.

Don quickly glanced around to see if any other people were waiting for him. He felt an overwhelming need to contact his partner, but something stopped him. Instead, he quickly pushed his files from the desktop into his drawer, got his things, left the building, and headed towards Nick’s car. As he got closer, he reached into his pocket to pull out the keys.

“Detective Schanke.”

Don froze, then slowly pivoted around. Detective Smith was already in the lot and coming over to him.

“Lucky catching you here. Nice car,” Allan complemented while gesturing towards the vehicle. “Mr Forrester was the registered owner of a car just like that one – a jade metallic 1961 Cadillac convertible. Yours?”

“Umm, no,” Don stammered, “it’s my partner’s.”

“Who is your partner?”

“Detective Nick Knight,” Don automatically answered before he could stop himself.

“Hmmm, short for Nicholas? Was it in this car’s glove box where you found the driver’s license?” Detective Schanke didn’t reply, and Allan definitely detected evasion. He stood more ridged. “I am going to need you to take me to your partner’s place so I can ask him some questions.”

“Look, Nick’s not a morning person.”

“Detective Schanke,” Detective Smith clipped, “I am not asking, I am telling you. I need to find this Nicholas, now, before he escapes again.” Allan quickly moved to the passenger’s door and put his fingers on the door handle. “Take me to see your partner.”


	2. Chapter 2

Don stopped alongside the brick warehouse where Nick lived and moved the gear shift lever on the steering column up two positions to park the Caddy. Peering up through the windshield could see that the building’s windows already had their shutters down, keeping the daylight away from his partner. “He’s probably asleep by now.”

Allan opened the passenger door and exited the car. “Perhaps he is still up.”

Don reluctantly pulled the keys out of the ignition and leaned over to exit. He managed to quickly sound the car horn twice on his way out. “Sorry, that was an accident.” He could tell by the scowl that the other Detective was not amused. Don went to the control panel and pressed the button to buzz for admission, hoping Nick heard the warning and wouldn’t let them in. He held onto that hope for a few seconds before he heard the lock open. Immediately, Detective Smith opened the door and entered, and he followed behind. Don managed to hurry past Smith up the stairs to the door that led into Nick’s place. Arriving near the door, he was surprised that it opened, revealing Nick patiently waiting for him. “Nick,” Don quietly warned.

Nick glanced at Schanke, then the mortal behind him. “It’s okay. Come on in.” He backed up as both men entered and walked down the short flight of stairs.

“Um, Nick. This is Detective Allan Smith, from the United States.” Don turned to Allan. “As you can see, Nick’s not 72. So we can go.”

Allan scrutinized Nick. “Nicholas, I presume.”

Nick kept perfectly still, hiding his turbulent emotions and suppressing the rising vampire. “Please, have a seat,” he offered while gently guiding Schanke to the side.

“Nick,” Don whispered, “I’m sorry. I found an old driver’s license in your car, and I-”

“Schanke, listen to me,” Nick slowly intoned, “go home.” He put a hand on his partner’s arm. “Everything will be fine. Just go home, now.” Nick released his physical and mental holds and was relieved when Schanke nodded and turned to leave. With what had happened lately, he wasn’t sure if Schanke would try to resist or not. When the door closed, Nick turned around. There was still the matter of the other mortal to handle, but he needed to know what had brought this one here and how much he knew. The man had taken a seat on the couch, so Nick avoided that piece of furniture and instead perched on the arm of the brown leather chair. “Detective Smith,” Nick began, “Schanke mentioned you were from the States.”

“New York,” Allan supplied. He had hoped that would result in some response from Nicholas, but nothing changed in the other man. “The Precinct that covers Greenwich Village.” Allan noted there was still no reaction.

“You made my partner bring you here. Why?”

“It’s uncanny.”

“What?”

Allan reached over to his bag and pulled out the thick file folder. Retrieving the papers, he flipped to the photocopies of the passports and laid them on the short coffee table before him. He looked back up at Nicholas. “You look just like the men in these cold cases.”

Nick glanced down, recognizing his old passports. He also remembered those particular identities were abandoned ones, loose ends he never wrapped up.

“You don’t look 72 years old,” Allan observed.

“I’m not 72,” Nick confirmed.

“How old are you?”

“Not 72.” Nick concentrated on Detective Smith’s heartbeat. “These are old cases from old men who no longer exist. They are gone, and their missing cases can be closed out.”

Allan blinked and leaned back into the seat cushions. “I had my suspicions watching you with Don, but that definitely proves it.”

Nick cocked his head slightly. “Proves what?”

Allan leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. “You think there aren’t ones like you in New York? Hypnotism doesn’t work on me.”

Nick reflexively stiffened, and his hold on the vampire began to slip. “Resistor?” He felt his fangs tingle as Allan nodded. “Hunter?”

Allan shook his head. “No. Actually, the opposite. I have a friend, he’s a vampire like you.”

“I doubt he’s like me,” Nick retorted.

Allan grinned. “No, he’s not a cop. That was a surprise. But I saved his life one day, and that introduced me to a whole other world. Since then, I’ve met others and dealt with a lot of cases that involve your kind. As you know, paperwork sometimes needs to be smoothed over and quickly filed away without too much notice. I help with that.”

“So you came all this way to help me?”

“Well, I didn’t know this case involved a vampire. That would explain the dead bodies and the amount of blood they were missing.”

That statement sent a chill through Nick, and the vampire retreated. “What dead bodies?” he nervously asked.

“The three that ran the rare books.” Allan pulled another page out of the folder and laid them on top of the passport images. These were printouts of the morgue photographs. “I had assumed you killed them because you didn’t need their services anymore, but since you’re a vampire ….”

Nick leapt off the chair and recoiled away from the accusation. “No!”

“Alright,” Allan hastily uttered, while turning the photocopies over. He found it interesting how disturbed Nicholas seemed about killing; this was not something he had ever observed in the other vampires he had come across. “Okay, why not sit back down and we’ll go over what happened.” Allan waited, but still the vampire did nothing. “Look, we can help each other out here,” he said while gesturing with his hands. “You need this case closed, and I need to get this case off my desk. But unless you tell me differently, I’m going to have to report that you killed those men over a book, and you are still on the run.”

“And leave the case open? That’s not really smoothing things over.”

“Call it personal interest.” Allan leaned back into the seat cushions. “I came all this way, found a vampire, and a Detective at that. Maybe I just want to know what happened - how one goes from hunting people to books to criminals.” He waited a while, and when it became clear Nicholas was not going to talk, he leaned over, collected the papers, put them back into his satchel, and began to rise.

“Wait.”

Allan glanced over to see Nicholas angle the leather chair and sit down. He returned to his seat on the couch and placed the bag back on the floor.

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Ever?” Allan incredulously asked.

Nick flinched. “I didn’t kill those men,” he corrected.

“Did you know they were killed?”

Nick turned away, the memories of that time pouring over him. He had enjoyed New York. After what had happened at the University of Chicago, being able to get a position at the New York University had been good for him. He had been forced to leave too early, driven off by the arrival of LaCroix. And of course, Nick darkly remembered, whenever LaCroix arrived, mindless killings of anyone close to him happened. “No, I didn’t know they had died then.” But he should have known, Nick chastised himself. This explained how LaCroix had known where to find him and what he had been doing.

Allan thought about Nicholas’ reply and how distressed he appeared to be. “Can you say their deaths had nothing to do with you?”

Nick clenched his eyes shut. “No,” he finally admitted. When the wave of guilt receded, he opened his eyes and faced Allan. “Someone had come looking for me. Must have met them first.”

“Would this person have killed these men if the opportunity was available?”

“Without hesitation.”

“Why?”

Nick looked over Detective Smith’s shoulder, blankly focusing on the bookcase in the alcove behind the stairs. “To find me and figure out what I was doing.”

Allan leaned over slightly. “What were you doing that would interest this person so much?”

Nick pushed back further into the leather chair. The feeling of excitement and hope when he had first came across the mention of a cure in the book he was translating at the University returned. That hope had carried him for years across many countries, searching for what he would eventually learn was a book called the Abarat. Then the hope in that cure was gone, burned out of him as the book itself had burned. He relived that despair again. “I was looking for something,” Nick softly said.

“A book?” Allan whispered, matching his volume to Nicholas’. He saw the vampire barely nod. “The book you were working on at the New York University?”

Nick gently shook his head. “That one was a catalogue of an older collection of books. It had details, but not enough, and not where the books had ended up.”

“Hence your meetings with the dealers in rare books?”

Nick turned away. Those men had never known exactly what he had found, only that he was looking for books of cures. When LaCroix had found him, confronted him, it was clear his sire hadn’t known specifically about the catalogue. They had fought, destroying his home. Nick recalled regaining consciousness afterward, the smell of the spilled cow blood and the broken glass bottles around him a testament to what LaCroix had been doing. But he had awoken alone, his sire had gone out. Wasting no time with such an opportunity, he had quickly gone to the University, taken the book so LaCroix couldn’t get it, and fled. It had never occurred to Nick that LaCroix had found him via mortals; he had just assumed their link had guided his maker. “I’m sorry they died because of me.”

Allan crossed his legs, giving himself time to think. “So you acquired a new identity, a new passport, and you traveled looking for the books listed in that catalogue? Must have been quite a valuable collection to spend so many years hunting them all down.”

“Just one of them. The original had been lost, but I learned a copy had been made. When I tracked that one, I learned it too had been lost, but there was a rumor another copy had been created, and ….” The memories of those times chasing the book flashed before him. Over those years, Nick had begun to worry he might never catch up to the book. He sighed. “It took some time to finally track it down.”

“And this individual, the one who killed to find you? I don’t imagine the person gave up so easily.”

“No, he didn’t. But I managed to stay ahead of him, for the most part.”

Allan scratched his cheek, wondering what type of book could interest two vampires that much. “Did he want the book for the same reason you did?”

Nick dragged his focus back to Allan. “He wanted me to not know what was in the book.”

Allan realized he wasn’t going to get a direct answer unless he asked a direct question, and he was very curious about the book. “What was this text about?”

Nick clasped his hands together in his lap and looked down. “I have a curse. The book contained a cure.”

“What curse?” Allan inquired as he uncrossed his legs. Immediately, he heard a low, menacing growl and then pushed back into the couch in alarm when he saw Nicholas’ crimson eyes and elongated fangs. He felt the danger, felt the age of the vampire before him - a predator more than equipped to handle its prey. He didn’t move, did nothing to make the vampire want to give chase, nothing to make the vampire want to start a hunt. Allan finally took a breath when Nicholas bent his head down, breaking eye contact.

Nick listened to the mortal’s heart rate slow down while he forced the vampire to retreat. He hadn’t meant to lose that much control. “I’m sorry,” Nick apologized.

Allan quickly took some deep breaths to calm back down. Now the vampire’s reaction to killing made sense, along with spending so much time looking for a book of cures – he viewed his condition as something to be rid of. Allan had never encountered a vampire who thought of themselves as anything other than lucky and blessed to be immortal. And since Nicholas was still a vampire …. “You never found the book?” 

“Oh,” Nick drew out, “I saw it.” He began to wring his hands. “The book was in East Berlin.”

“You didn’t read it?”

“It was on fire.”

“The library fire. The book was in the library, the State Archive.” Allan frowned in confusion. “But why burn the library? It had what you sought.”

“Precisely - that’s why he burned it - in case there were duplicates or clues to where other copies could be found.” The memories of the fire and his dash to get the burning Abarat made him reactively flinch. The danger had been too much, and he wasn’t able to rescue the text. Hope had given way to despair, then to anger. To have been so close and for LaCroix to have taken it was too much, and he was desperate. His maker had read the book, so Nick had gone after him with the intent to take that knowledge. After biting and drinking the blood, he had learned the truth – though LaCroix had read and understood the ancient language, his sire had deliberately not looked at the portion that detailed the cure to vampirism.

“So it ended there? No more searching?”

The mortal’s question snapped Nick out from his memories. He might not be currently searching for the Abarat, but Lily still tenaciously was. “No idea where to begin.”

Allan tapped his fingertips on his leg. “So you liked tracking things down, figuring out puzzles, so you became a Detective after that?”

Nick shrugged. “I had my reasons.” He looked directly at Detective Smith. “But believe this: I value human life, murderers should be held accountable for their actions, and I didn’t kill those men in New York. I was only interested in a book. Are you satisfied? Can you close these cases now?”

“I believe you; I don’t think you killed them. But that wasn’t all there was to this case. There is still the matter of the book.”

“I told you, the book burned.”

“Not that book. The one from the University Library you stole.”

Nick furrowed his brow, then slowly got up from his chair. Walking past the fridge into the alcove, he stopped at the end of the bookcase. Reaching up, he carefully pulled an old book from the top shelf. Returning to the sitting area, he handed the catalogue to Allan. “My sincerest apologies to the University,” Nick said as he sank back into the leather chair. “I will, of course, pay any late fee owed.”

Allan smiled as he placed the book on the seat next to him on the couch and reached down to get his bag. “Well, at least I will be able to update the case and close that part out with a good resolution.” He had dealt with enough vampires to know Nicholas would never tell him the name of the one who had actually killed the book dealers. He knew the behavior had to do with some Code about how they were to interact with each other and with humans. Allan had long ago ceased to try and coerce such information. “As for these men, I’ll enter something in.”

“I’m sorry you have to lie like that.”

Allan shrugged as he stood up, collecting the bag and the book. “Some details you just cannot put in the files. Not that anyone would believe the truth anyway.”

“Yeah,” Nick sadly agreed. He’d seen some of that when Nat had been forced to cover up LaCroix’s killing and draining of the ROM security guard and of Fenner.

“Besides,” Allan continued as he headed for the door. “The punishment at the time would have been execution in the electric chair, and that’s not exactly lethal to your kind.”

Nick glanced at the metal elevator door. Nat had agreed to the deception in her reports because she at least knew LaCroix had been killed. It had disturbed her a lot when he had to tell her LaCroix was still alive. She had been left with the feeling that justice had been cheated, and she had a role in that as well. “If it’s any consolation,” he volunteered, “I staked and burned him.”

Allan acknowledged the information. “Thank you. It will be very helpful to be able to honestly state that justice, in some way, had been served, and the killer is dead.”

Nick escorted the man to the door to exit. He didn’t bother to correct the conclusion Detective Smith had come to.


	3. Chapter 3

Nick finished pouring the cold red fluid into the wine glass and returned the bottle to the refrigerator. Heading over to the leather couch, he dropped into the seat and took a sip. The most recent protein shake from Nat that he was supposed to be drinking was still in the fridge. He promised himself he would drink that later.

Nick reached back to grab his black remote from the table behind the couch. Pressing a button, all the window shutters moved to reveal the evening. He tossed the remote onto the neighboring seat cushion, then took another sip. The sound of a car driving up to his building made him pause. He recognized the sound – it was his Caddy – which meant Schanke had come. Frowning, he gulped down a large amount, then quickly moved to hide the glass in the fridge. He next went around turning on the lights and clicked the last lamp on when the buzzer sounded. A glance at the monitor showed Schanke was alone, and Nick pressed the button to unlock the door. A few moments later, he opened the door for Schanke. “I thought you were supposed to be on vacation?”

Don bobbed his head. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But I wanted to check on you before we leave tomorrow morning.”

Nick gently shook his head. “You could have called.” He watched Schanke nervously bounce slightly from one foot to the other. “Schanke, I’m fine.”

“Nick, I’m sorry. What I did, and the guy from this morning-”

“Schanke-” Nick interrupted but didn’t continue as his partner walked away from him and headed to the couch. He pressed his lips together and followed, eventually sitting in the leather seat across from the couch. His partner had taken the couch seat. “Schanke,” Nick began again.

“I don’t know what came over me, leaving you with that Detective,” Don blustered out. “Partners should’ve stuck together.”

“Schanke,” Nick tried again. “It’s fine.”

“No, Nick,” Don corrected. “I did something and then you had to deal that, and ….” He trailed off, then took a deep breath. Don had gotten the Nightcrawler’s promise to not bring this up with Nick, and here he was going to do that very thing. He nervously rubbed his forehead. “I couldn’t do this over the phone. Nick, I went to see the Nightcrawler, from that radio program.”

A spike of anxiety shot through Nick. It was always dangerous when mortals crossed paths with his maker, and Schanke had sought LaCroix out once before with concerns about them being vampires. Nick had assured his sire that would not happen again. “Tonight?”

“No, no,” Don replied. “A little while ago. It was after that shooting, and instead of dealing with how it was affecting me, I ah … I fixated on you.”

“Me?”

Don adjusted his shirt, unbuttoning the top button. “I thought ….” He didn’t bother finishing. The last thing he was going to say was that he thought his partner, and others, were vampires. “I was concerned about you, and I went to the radio station.” Recalling back to that day, it was a blur of activity and ideas running through him so fast, and when he got the idea to go there, he just went. “I went to talk to the Nightcrawler.”

Nick leaned back into the chair. “And?” he prompted.

“And we talked; he helped me work through what had happened.” Don glanced up at Nick. “He said something … about you.” He threaded his fingers together nervously. “Nick, I want you to know, I’d never pry.” Don took a deep breath. “But I know … that you’re adopted,” he rushed.

Nick let out his breath. “Schanke-”

“And,” Don interjected, “I found that old driver’s license in the car and had an archive search done and that’s why Detective Smith came and-”

“Schanke-”

“And then he came here, and it’s my fault-”

“Are you going to let me talk?”

Don stopped moving his hands and looked at Nick. “What?”

“He just had a few questions. That was it.”

“That picture on the driver’s license, I always thought it looked so much like you.”

Nick leaned forward. If seeing Detective Smith’s pictures was triggering the re-emergence of Schanke’s memories and fixation on vampires, he had to stop that.

“But then I remembered something Janette had said – there is a strong resemblance in your families. Nick, I want you to know I finally understand what happened and why that car means so much to you. And why you had that driver’s license still in there.” Don paused. “Nicholas Forrester was your father.” He watched Nick lean back into the leather chair. “And then I go and pry into that and Smith comes and it turns out there is an open case about him and he was also a guy named Thomas. Did you know, Nick?”

“That he changed his name? Yes. About the case? No.”

“See,” Don said, scolding himself. “Because of what I did, you had to find out about how the Detectives had thought he had been killed, and the criminal involvement. You wouldn’t have known that if I hadn’t ….”

Nick got up and walked around the coffee table and sat next to Schanke on the couch. “It’s alright. I know Nicholas Forrester is gone; he doesn’t exist anymore, hasn’t been around for decades. The Caddy is the only thing that was his that I have.”

Don wasn’t going to ask when or how Nick’s dad had actually died, that was too personal, but he could at least respect the car more now that he knew what it meant to Nick. “I’m sorry for dropping food in there, I won’t do that again.”

Nick smiled at his partner. “Thank you.”

“Did Smith bring up, I mean, the rest of the case? The bodies?”

“Yeah,” Nick said as he nodded. “Turns out it was a misunderstanding. I knew something useful about that, and it cleared everything up.” Nick stood up when Schanke did. “So thanks for that, I wouldn’t have otherwise known about the cold case and Forrester’s involvement with it.”

“So, was your dad really involved in stolen books?” Don asked as he headed for the door to leave.

Nick grinned. “Just one book. And I happened to have it, and I gave it to Smith, who will return it to the library where it belongs.”

Don quickly climbed the few steps and stopped right before the door. Turning back and looking down at his partner, he asked, “Did you ever find out why your dad took the book? Why he left? Did he ever find what he was looking for?”

“No.”

“‘No’ to which question? Nick-” But Don knew that stubborn look and it was time for him to go. He turned and gripped the doorknob.

When Schanke left and the door closed, Nick climbed up to the entryway. He leaned forward until his forehead struck the door, listening to the retreating steps as his partner left the building. When he was sure Schanke was gone and he was alone again, Nick finally answered to the empty loft. “The last question.”


End file.
